In October 2021, when it appeared that the worst of the coronavirus pandemic was over, my brother D, and his fiancée T – who met in college in Ireland and who now live in the United States – announced that they were getting married in January. This was later than intended because of the pandemic. The location was the bride-to-be’s hometown of Ibadan in Nigeria. Ibadan is the third largest  city in Nigeria with a population of six million people. Home to Nigeria’s first university, it is located approximately two hours drive north of the  coastal capital Lagos. My family and I were thrilled and a group of six of us confirmed our interest in travelling – flights were purchased and planning got underway.

Except then the omicron variant arrived in all its toxic glory, which scuppered the wedding plans. Further lockdowns and restrictions in travel meant it would be impossible to proceed with the ceremony in Nigeria. Instead the couple travelled to Puerto Rico for a beach wedding with just a couple of witnesses. That was the end of our glorious African adventure, we thought.

One year later – in January this year – while I was lolling about like a sack of meal, beside the swimming pool in Tenerife, I received a text to say that the bride’s family intended to hold the traditional Yoruba ceremony in June and I was invited. I instantly accepted – this was a chance of a lifetime to see my brother get married in such an exotic location. Unfortunately the number of interested Irish passengers had dwindled in the intervening year, and my sister C and I were the family representatives that would be travelling.

We arranged our visas and vaccines in advance of travel (the yellow fever vaccine is the only compulsory vaccine but I also took the recommended tetanus, polio, diphteria, hepatitis A shots. A pricy but probably wise precaution.)

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